


The Proud and the Prejudiced

by Potrix



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bickering, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Flirting, Friendship, Future Fic, Getting Together, Grinding, Identity Issues, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, Kent Parson Birthday Bash 2017, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Outing, POV Kent Parson, Pride, Queer Themes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-21 05:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11350986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: “Don’t ruin pretty face,” a familiar, accented voice drawls. “It's only thing you have going for you.”“Fuck off, Mashkov,” Kent barks back automatically before he stills, and then slowly turns around to face the other man. “Mashkov? What the fuck are you doing here?”Kent has annoying but well-meaning friends, a lot of (internalized) issues, and amildpretty bad swearing problem. But he gets to kiss a hot guy at Pride, so there's that.





	The Proud and the Prejudiced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [topieornottopie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/topieornottopie/gifts).



> My contribution to the [Kent Parson Birthday Bash 2017](https://kentparsonbirthdaybash.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> My giftee wanted the Aces at Pride, coming-outs, and Kent being afraid of flying with sprinkles of hurt and angst. Unfortunately, I couldn't fit Kit in there, but Kent gets to make out with a(nother) hot hockey player, so I hope that makes up for it.
> 
>  **Huge thanks** to [@auripigmentum](http://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/), the person yelling at me until I finish my stories, and [@marvelingjules](http://marvelingjules.tumblr.com/), my wonderful last minute beta. You rock! 
> 
>  
> 
> ([@auripigmentum](http://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/) is also partially to blame for the double pun/literature/social criticism title.)

It’s not that Kent hates the idea of spending a long weekend partying with his buddies, it’s really not; he would, under different circumstances, jump at the chance to get them all together like this during the off-season, and part of him is genuinely looking forward to spending some quality bro time with them, but that, right there, is also part of the problem. 

Kent knows it’s unfair, and maybe a little paranoid, to assume that something’s going to go wrong, but he can’t help it. That feeling—the worry that the other shoe is about to drop—has been his constant companion ever since he came out to his team, hands jammed into his pockets to hide the way they were trembling, and chin jutted out challengingly. 

He doesn’t regret it, not exactly, but he does wish he could have done it on his own terms. It had been part self-preservation, and part his clumsy attempt at taking some of the heat off a friend to make a preemptive statement after the pictures of Jack and Bitty had showed up on Twitter, to put the, “I am gay, I support Jack Zimmermann, and I won’t be commenting on any relationships, mine or Jack’s, past or present,” out there before anyone got the opportunity to dig out the old clips of him and Jack, and start those particular rumours up again. 

And the whole thing had gone better than Kent ever could’ve hoped for, really. His agent and the Aces management had stood by him, no one on the team had acted overtly hostile or disgusted, the majority of the fans had reacted positively, and, to everyone’s surprise, several other NHL and AHL players had followed suit, and come out as well in support. 

But being fine with something in theory, and actually accepting it when confronted with it face to face are two entirely different things. Which is why Kent hadn’t told anyone about flying out to meet Bitty and Jack, had only let the Aces PR team know about Jack inviting him—or, rather, calling him in a panic after having been talked into it himself—to ride along on one of the floats at the Providence Pride Parade. He still doesn’t know how, exactly, Swoops got wind of the whole thing, but he did, and invited himself and the Wonder Twins along for the party. 

The three of them are undoubtedly the least likely of his teammates to suddenly, belatedly freak about Kent liking dick, but Kent’s still nervous. He and Swoops have been tight from pretty much the moment Swoops got traded to the Aces, but Swoops, however unthinkingly and non-maliciously, had thrown out the occasional ‘cocksucker’ or ‘that’s so gay’ in casual conversation prior to Kent’s coming out. And while Julian and Jonas seem almost suspiciously relaxed about most things—Kent thinks it’s a Swiss thing, they’re the poster children for steadfast neutrality, after all—and have a younger brother playing in Seattle who was part of the big hockey coming out wave, Kent, unlike Jannik, is their captain, not their family. 

There’s also no way Kent’s going to try and pick someone up while he’s out with people from the team, no matter how okay they may or may not be with it. Swoops has been badgering Kent for information about what kind of men he likes the last few days, trying to figure out his type, and making noise about playing wingman, but that’s absolutely, one-hundred percent not happening. 

Swoops means well, Kent knows that, but he’s been living in locker rooms and hearing how the guys talk about their hookups for the last decade and a half, and he’s not about to put himself on display like that, not when he’s generally the one getting fucked. It’s not like Kent thinks bottoming makes him the ‘girl’, or less of a man—not anymore, thanks to countless hours of therapy—but some of the guys are definitely going to disagree with that. And Kent has worked too hard, has hidden huge parts of himself away for too long to risk losing the respect of his team now, over a chance to get his dick wet. 

Kent isn’t even bitter about it. Much. 

He’s distracted from his not at all sulky brooding when the plane jerks, making him grit his teeth, and dig his fingers into the armrests. “Shut up,” he hisses automatically, and, sure enough, when he glances at the next seat over, Swoops is grinning back at him like the asshole he is. 

“You okay there, Parser?” he asks, all fake innocence. “Need a puke bag? Want me to hold your hand?”

Kent flips him off, then swats at him when Swoops actually goes to grab his hand. “Fuck off, man. You didn’t go into your guest bathroom for, like, four days after you found that spider—”

“Those things are scary, dude,” Swoops interrupts with a shudder, reaching over to poke Kent in the chest. 

“And literally falling out of the sky isn’t?” Kent argues back, kicking at Swoops’ shin. 

“Flying’s part of your job! You do it all the time! How are you not used to—”

“Fears don’t have to be rational, Jeffrey, that’s not—”

“Then why are you giving me shit about the spider, Kenneth? You fucking hypocrite, you—”

“That’s not even my name! And you started it, don’t act like—”

“Children,” Julian says from across the aisle, eyes still firmly fixed on his tablet, “behave.” 

Kent slaps Swoops again, for good measure, and makes sure to dig his elbows into his thighs when he leans over him to make a face at Julian. “You’re two years older than me, douchebag.” 

Julian ignores him completely, but Jonas throws a pack of M&Ms at his head, then squawks in outrage when Kent snatches it up, rips it open, and stuffs a handful of candy into his mouth. “‘S your own fault,” he says, chewing obnoxiously, and laughs when Swoops shoves him back into his seat with a muttered, “You’re fucking disgusting, dude, jeez.” 

A moment later, Swoops is on him again, though, draping himself across Kent, and putting him into a loose headlock. “It’s just a little turbulence,” he whispers, quiet and only for Kent to hear. He rubs his cheek against Kent’s hair, just for a few seconds, before settling his chin on top of Kent’s head. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kent murmurs back, bumping his foot against Swoops’ in thanks.

They disentangle after a minute, but Kent stays slumped against Swoops’ shoulder as Swoops goes back to playing on his phone. He’d been scared of losing this—the roughhousing, the bro hugs, the arms thrown over shoulders, the falling asleep on each other in hotel rooms while watching movies—after coming out, but, if anything, Swoops has become more tactile, as if to prove that nothing has changed between them. More tactile, and protective as fuck, always hovering close to Kent during games, ready to throw down if someone so much as looks at Kent wrong. Which is pretty dumb, all things considered, and gets Swoops sent to the box and yelled at a lot by the coaches, but Kent appreciates the sentiment.

Craning his neck, Kent smacks an exaggeratedly loud, wet kiss on Swoops’ cheek. “Thanks, man.”

“Gross,” Swoops complains, making a show of wiping his cheek. But he doesn’t even look up from his game, and hooks his arm around Kent’s neck again, keeping him close. 

Maybe, Kent thinks, smiling to himself, this whole weekend won’t end up being a huge fucking disaster after all.

*** * ***

Kent drops his bag, and nearly lands flat on his ass when Bitty barrels into him at full speed. “Hello to you, too,” he chuckles through a wheeze, bringing his arms up to return the hug, clinging right back.

They’d gotten off to a rough start—Kent gets defensive and mean when he’s hurt, and Bitty can hold one hell of a grudge—but eventually realised that their constant, passive-aggressive bickering was not only pointless and exhausting, but also putting Jack in a terrible position. So they’d pulled themselves together, made an actual effort, and discovered that they had enough in common—being gay and mostly closeted in an extremely macho sports environment, a love for Top 40 pop songs, a penchant for the dramatic, being much fiercer than they look at first glance, caring about Jack—to build a friendship on. 

It had taken time, as well as some tears and a lot of angry words on both sides, but Kent has come to consider Bitty one of his closest friends, and he knows Bitty feels the same about him. 

They probably hug for longer than is strictly appropriate in the middle of a busy airport, but Kent can’t bring himself to give a shit. He’s shameless when it comes to affection, for one, and this is the first time they’re seeing each other—Skype, Snapchat, and FaceTime notwithstanding—since the pictures went public, and Kent’s resulting coming out. They’re allowed some comfort, as far as Kent’s concerned. 

When Bitty pulls back, his eyes are damp, but he’s smiling, tremulous but determined. “Thanks for comin’ on such short notice,” he says, then glances over Kent’s shoulder, and quirks an eyebrow. “And for bringing reinforcements.”

Kent snorts. “Don’t thank me yet, they’re all annoying assh—”

“Lies and slander,” Swoops yells, hand clamping over Kent’s mouth. “We’re delightful.” 

Bitty rolls his eyes, amused, and turns away to greet the twins when Kent licks Swoops’ palm, and Swoops shrieks before jumping on Kent’s back, knocking off his snapback to mess up his hair. 

Everyone makes it out to Bitty’s car eventually, though, Kent calling shotgun, and smirking at the others when they have to cram into the back. Bitty, good Southern boy that he is, does drive a pickup, but even a spacious truck isn’t enough to comfortably accommodate three six-foot-plus hockey players. Swoops huffs about it until Bitty hands him a Tupperware of homemade granola bars, and then he’s too busy stuffing his face and making appreciative noises to complain. 

They discuss the weekend’s schedule on the drive back to Jack and Bitty’s house—a casual dinner at home tonight, the Pride float tomorrow afternoon with a short meet and greet thing for Jack and Kent afterwards, the afterparty in the evening, and then brunch on Sunday morning before the Vegas crew has to head back home—and pull into the driveway just as Jack gets out of his own car. Jack’s been in high demand over the last couple of weeks, and it shows; his hair and clothes are impeccable, but there are dark circles under his eyes, and his nails are bitten down to the quick, a nervous habit he’s had for as long as Kent has known him. 

He relaxes the instant he spots Bitty, though, his face softening, and his shoulders losing some of their tension. “Hey, Bits,” he says, smiling, and leans down to accept the kiss Bitty brushes across his lips, hands coming up to gently cradle Bitty’s face.

Not so long ago, Kent would’ve been jealous, hurt and angry, and definitely resenting them for their happiness. He’s still envious, and that’s not about to change anytime soon, but it’s a sad kind of envy born out of his own loneliness, not a begrudging one due to any unresolved feelings between him and Jack. Which is an improvement, according to Kent’s therapist, and he’s learned by now that his life is usually much, much easier if he listens to her, and follows her advice. 

“All right, c’mon,” Bitty announces, once he’s stepped back from Jack, motioning for the twins and Swoops to follow him. “There’s some fresh lemonade waitin’ in the kitchen, and then I’ll give y’all the tour.”

He leaves after shooting Kent a pointed look—widened eyes moving from him to Jack and back again—patting Jonas’ hand with a soft, “Oh, honey,” when Jonas asks if there’s any food. 

Kent waits until they’re inside and the others have vanished down the hall, but then he curls a hand around Jack’s arm, and doesn’t even need to tug before Jack turns, and practically collapses on Kent’s shoulder. Kent winds one arm around his back, and settles his free hand on the back of Jack’s neck, squeezing gently. “That bad?”

Jack lets out a shuddering breath. “Not bad, not all of it. Just a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” Kent groans. “No one’s ever given this much of a shit about my hockey, but suddenly everyone needs to know absolutely everything I do with my dick.” 

Jack is chuckling softly under his breath as he pulls back, still looking exhausted, but a little less harried now. He drops his forehead against Kent’s, eyes crinkled fondly. “I’m glad you’re here, Kenny.”

“‘Course,” Kent says, smiling back. Then he smirks, and waggles his eyebrows. “Two days of Bitty’s cooking, man, I wasn’t going to refuse—hey, no, don’t!”

He tries to duck away, but Jack gets a good hold on him, and digs his fingers into Kent’s sides, knowing exactly where he’s most ticklish. But Jack’s wearing a tie, and Kent doesn’t hesitate to pull at it, making Jack stumble for a moment. It’s enough that he can jab his elbow out, but Jack recovers too quickly, and grabs Kent around the waist, lifting him off his feet. Kent kicks at him, and reaches back over his head to grab at him, nearly making them both fall over in the process. 

They both freeze when someone clears their throat, and look over to find Bitty standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He’s trying to look stern, arms crossed and foot tapping against the floor, but his mouth is twitching tellingly. 

Jack lowers Kent back down onto his feet. “Sorry, Bits,” he says, and he sounds so damned innocent, too, the filthy liar. 

But as soon as Bitty turns back around, he pushes a hand against Kent’s face, making him stagger. “Nice balance you’ve got there, Parson,” he says as he walks away, throwing a cheeky wink back over his shoulder. 

“Asshole,” Kent mutters, but he can’t stop grinning.

*** * ***

Kent’s good mood lasts all the way through a round of drinks, Bitty's amazing dinner, breakfast the next morning, and the parade.

The people from the local LGBTQ sports center are thrilled to have five famous hockey players instead of the announced two to ride along on their float, their DJ promises to play lots of Britney, someone hands Kent an entire bag of glitter, and there’s even a lady who does makeup and bodypainting. Bitty gets his face painted like a bunny—which makes Jack blush bright red, and Kent vow to find out why—Jack goes for a little bi pride flag on his cheek, and Kent immediately pulls off his shirt to get his entire upper body painted in rainbow colours. 

Julian, Jonas, and Swoops, after huddling together for a moment, all get KVP on their right, and the number 90 on their left cheeks. Kent doesn’t even pretend that he isn’t touched. 

And then they’re all on the float, slowly rolling through the packed Providence streets. Swoops, who’d spent his rookie year playing with the Falcs’ farm team, vanishes right at the start to walk alongside their car and take pictures with the people lined up behind the barriers. Julian, always the responsible one, stays close to one of the organisers and helps wherever he can, while Jonas gets drawn into a conversation with two drag queens, listening attentively—and somewhat horrified—as they explain what tucking is. Bitty is dancing, and even Jack seems to be having fun, handing out brochures and water bottles, and occasionally spinning a giggling Bitty around for a couple of minutes. Kent, for his part, throws glitter, enjoys the free drinks, and dances with Bitty when Jack’s busy elsewhere.

It’s only later, after the meet and greet, that things start to go downhill. They’ve been set up in a little VIP area in one of the party tents, and are winding down with some snacks when Swoops comes back from the bar, beaming, with a guy in tow, directing him into the seat next to Kent after introducing him as, “Malik, he’s a student and plays baseball. Don’t hold it against him.”

Malik and Kent bicker amicably about their sports of choice for a couple of minutes, and when Malik asks Kent if he wants to dance and Kent declines, Malik just smiles, shrugs, and excuses himself. Swoops, though, frowns at Kent before getting up, and disappearing into the crowd again. 

It takes two more guys, and the second one putting his hand high up on Kent’s thigh for Kent to realise what’s going on. He’s not usually this slow on the uptake when it comes to guys coming onto him, but the circumstances—mostly gay bars in cities where no one gives a shit about hockey, and some discreet high-end escorts back in Vegas—tend to be different. That a guy can come up to him in public, that he can flirt and that Kent can openly flirt back now will take some getting used to. And Kent doesn’t want to experiment with this newfound freedom while his teammates sit right next to him. It’s too weird, still, to just have them know that it’s men he’s interested in, and actively having them set him up is kind of freaking Kent out. 

After he’s sent the latest guy away with a forced smile and an apology glass of champagne, Kent scoots closer to Swoops, punching him in the shoulder. “Stop it, dude. I told you, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine, all right?” 

Swoops is definitely buzzed, eyes a little glassy as he pouts at Kent. “They were cool guys, nice and all that shit. You deserve to be happy, Parser, c’mon. Live a little.”

“This is great, man,” Kent insists, gesturing at their group, and nudges his knee against Swoops’. “I don’t need anything else right now. I’m fine, okay?”

“Are you, though?” Swoops asks sceptically, annoyingly perceptive and persistent like he often gets when he’s drinking. “You never hook up when we’re out, which, yeah, I get why now, obviously, but you haven’t had a boyfriend, or partner, or whatever, either, in the eight years I’ve known you. That’s just. It’s sad, Parse. It’s sad.”

Kent glares at him. “I could’ve had a boyfriend. How would you know?”

Swoops shakes his head, and Kent grits his teeth against the too sympathetic look in his eyes. “We would’ve known, man. Your friends, we would’ve known. Assumed it was a girl, sure, but we would’ve noticed. But you’re always around, you’re always available, always there when someone needs you, and that makes you a fucking amazing captain, the best, but it doesn’t really leave a lot of free time for a boyfriend, does it?”

And the thing is, Kent can’t deny it. Any of it. He’s purposefully kept himself busy since being drafted, as involved with his team, his charities, his projects as possible just to be able to claim other commitments, to make it look like he doesn’t have the time for a serious relationship, to avoid suspicion. He’s showed up to practice with hickeys or a scratched up back every few months to stave off questions about a lacking sex life, has smiled through the catcalls and chirps, and always kept mum about his partners. 

Kent’s tried so hard, and he’s been so fucking lonely through it all, and now he doesn’t have to be anymore, but his own stupid hang-ups are still as present as ever, and it fucking sucks. It sucks so, so much, and his inability to just get over himself makes him angry enough that he nearly snaps at Swoops when Swoops continues, “I just wanna help, man. You deserve to be happy.”

He gets up instead, giving a dismissive wave when everyone turns to stare at him with varying degrees of concern and confusion. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Just going to get some water or something. It’s fine.” 

Before someone gets the idea to stop him, Kent flees outside, walking until the throng of people finally thins out somewhere behind the food carts. He feels drained, and like a complete dick for nearly losing his temper over nothing. Cursing under his breath, he yanks off his snapback, and thumps his forehead against the closest wall. Pissed, he does it again, and again, and then a hand is pushed between his head and the cold stone. 

“Don’t ruin pretty face,” a familiar, accented voice drawls. “It's only thing you have going for you.” 

“Fuck off, Mashkov,” Kent barks back automatically before he stills, and then slowly turns around to face the other man. “Mashkov? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Mashkov makes a sweeping motion at the backs of the food carts, crates stacked and cables hanging around everywhere. “Enjoying scenery,” he deadpans, but then he smiles, and shrugs almost shyly. “Is Pride. What you think I’m doing here?” 

It doesn’t happen often, much to the dismay of the Aces PR team, but Kent is rendered absolutely speechless at the implication. “You didn’t come out with everyone else, though,” Kent says, dumbly, once he’s recovered himself. Then he cringes, and adds hurriedly, “Not that you had to. ‘M just surprised, I guess.” 

“Did want to,” Mashkov admits with a deep sigh, scratching at the back of his head. “But family was still in Russia, mama and papa, brother and wife with little girl. Did not want to make trouble for them.” 

“Shit, yeah.” Kent grimaces. “They’ll be okay, though, right? Because, not to burst your bubble or anything, but you’ll definitely get recognised. You’re wearing a Falcs shirt, for crying out loud, with—with sequins? Jesus Christ, man, talk about terrible taste.” 

Mashkov gasps dramatically, all feigned offence. “Great taste, thank you very much. And family be okay, come here last week. Stay for as long as necessary.”

He, understandably, doesn’t sound too happy about the situation. Kent claps him on the shoulder. “That’s rough, man. I’m sorry.” 

“Is what it is,” Mashkov says, shrugging again. “Could also be much worse. They still love me, come here, not stay in Russia, say I’m not family anymore. So, is not ideal, but is good, you know? Is okay.”

Kent nods, and Mashkov gestures at him, and asks, “What up with you? Look all sad, sitting outside in dark corner.” 

“I’m fine,” Kent says, for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour. But it doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears, and Mashkov just raises one disbelieving eyebrow. Kent amends, “It’s stupid, I’ll get over it.” 

“It upset you, is important, no?” Mashov is smiling encouragingly, and he looks so sincere, and suddenly, it all just bursts out of Kent.

“It’s just really fucking weird, dude, all of it. Like, I’ve known I was gay since, shit, pretty much since I figured out what my dick was for, and I’ve been hiding it for just as long. From everyone, even my family, my friends, literally everyone. The only people who knew were the guys I was hooking up with, and most of them had no fucking clue who I was. It was like I was living these two completely different lives at the same time, and, don’t get me wrong, I hated it, it was fucking awful, but I got used to it, right? It was a whole thing, keeping them separate, maintaining the illusion, all that fucked up bullshit. And a huge part of me is relieved that I don’t have to pretend anymore, and I keep telling myself that this is better, that I’m happy, that I don’t miss how it used to be, but I kind of do? Because change is—it’s so fucking hard, man, and I’m not good with it. I’m so shit at dealing with change, it’s fucking ridiculous. And then my friends, I expected them to freak out, to hate me, all of that, but they’re so supportive? And that is so much more than I ever expected, and I feel like an ungrateful asshole just thinking this, but I wish they’d just leave me alone about it? Because—”

“Because is all about that now,” Mashkov finishes, nothing but resigned understanding on his face. “Is all about sexuality now, even if thing has nothing to do with it.”

“Exactly!” Kent exclaims, and slumps back against the wall with a drawn-out sigh. “It’s taking over every aspect of my life because they try so fucking hard to show support and be okay with it, and it honestly makes me feel like a total freak sometimes. I like guys, that’s all there is to it, no big deal, can we move on now, please? Fucking seriously.”

“Same with team who know,” Mashkov says, shaking his head. “Make huge thing of it, make big teenage crisis I have when I realise feel like tiny little thing.” 

Kent clicks his tongue, and helplessly waves his hand around. “Straight people, man. I don’t get them, sometimes. Really don’t.”

They fall silent after that, but it’s comfortable, easy. The media likes to play up their rivalry—keep calling it one of the decade’s big hockey feuds—but while they're not friends, exactly, they're not enemies, either, not anymore. Their on-ice meetings definitely have an antagonistic flair, with Kent doing his best to get a rise out of Mashkov, and Mashkov being so fiercely protective of his teammates, but they have mellowed out over the years, and it's more fanservice than anything else by now. 

That, and Kent gets a kick out of riling Mashkov up. The guy is attractive—big, strong, probably able to manhandle Kent just the way he likes—especially when he's angry, and Mashkov reacts beautifully to Kent’s teasing; pushing, shoving, checking, and grinning at Kent whenever no one’s looking. 

If Kent didn’t know better, he’d say Mashkov enjoys their pigtail pulling almost as much as Kent does. In fact, the main reason Kent hadn’t really thought more closely about it until now was the assumption that Mashkov was most likely straight, which—

“Holy shit,” Kent blurts, eyes snapping up to meet Mashkov’s, “you’re into me.” It's too dark to tell for sure, but Kent’s fairly sure that’s a blush colouring Mashkov’s cheeks. “You totally are! Dude, admit it, come on. Nothing to be ashamed of, Mashkov, plenty of people feel the same. Hey! You do have good taste in some things, apparently. Congrats, man.” 

“Shut up,” Mashkov growls, using his height to loom over Kent, who’s literally with his back against a wall. “So annoying, don’t even know why I like.”

“Aha! So you do—”

The rest of Kent’s words come out muffled, mumbled against Mashkov’s lips. 

“Fuck, yes,” Kent breathes, and Mashkov says, “Alexei, is Alexei,” and then his mouth is back on Kent’s, hot and wet and insistent. 

Kent hovers his hands above Mashk—above Alexei’s shoulders for a moment, unsure where to put them, but then he thinks, fuck it, and slides them both into Alexei’s hair, giving it a sharp tug. Alexei moans, and presses even closer, moving his hands down, into the back pockets of Kent’s shorts to grope Kent’s ass. 

“Can you,” Kent gasps, pushing up onto his toes, because this is a fucking wet dream come true, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it. He hooks one leg around Alexei’s waist, saying a silent prayer to his personal trainer for putting him through all those flexibility workouts, and grinds up. “Like this?”

Alexei, thankfully, catches on quickly, and hoists Kent up like Kent's 180 pounds are nothing, shoving him into the wall while Kent brings his other leg up as well. They blink at each other for a long, loaded moment, and then all bets are off. 

Kent pulls at Alexei’s shirt, pushing his hands underneath, and Alexei attaches his mouth to Kent’s neck, biting none too gently. Kent groans, and rubs himself against Alexei as best as he can, shuddering all over when his half-hard dick presses against Alexei’s equally interested one. Alexei's shirt is a mess where it touches Kent's painted chest, and Kent's lips already feel swollen, and it's glorious. 

When they kiss again, it’s hard, almost brutal, frantic and needy. The rational, not yet lust crazed part of Kent’s brain knows they can’t fuck out here, in the open, but kissing’s probably fine. Just a little longer, just—

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me,” Swoops whines, hand over his eyes when Kent manages to tear his mouth away from Alexei’s, and look over at him. “Scarred for life, man.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Kent says, and makes absolutely no move to get away from Alexei, who seems content to stay put, too, nosing along Kent’s jaw. “This isn’t even in the top ten, dude, don’t front.” 

Swoop glowers at him. “That just makes it worse.” He nods at Alexei. “Mashkov.” 

“Troy,” Alexei says, voice coming out all raw and raspy, and Kent can’t help himself, has to kiss him again. 

“Okay,” Swoops says loudly, “awesome, wonderful. Parse, we’re thinking of heading out. You coming,” he rolls his eyes when Kent snickers, “or what?” 

Kent looks down at Alexei—which, whoa, weird—and quirks an eyebrow. “What do you say? Wanna take this somewhere more private?”

Swoops makes a pained noise. “That’s not what I—”

But Alexei talks right over him, his smile soft, lips brushing across Kent’s cheek like a promise. “Yes. Want very much.”

*** * ***

Kent wakes up in one of Bitty and Jack’s guest rooms, pleasantly sore, with Alexei spooned against his back, one big hand splayed across Kent’s stomach. He wiggles experimentally, smiling into his pillow when Alexei mumbles sleepily, and kisses the back of his neck.

“Morning, stud.”

Alexei snorts, but tightens the arm he has around Kent. “Too early. Go back to sleep.”

Kent wiggles some more, rubbing his ass against Alexei’s crotch. “If you get up now, we have maybe half an hour before Bitty’s gonna come call us for brunch.” 

“Mmh,” Alexei yawns, making Kent bark out a startled laugh when he suddenly flips him over onto his back, and settles over him. “Good point. Very smart. Pretty and clever, Kent. Best.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Kent hums, and pulls Alexei down for a kiss. 

Food can wait. 

~ end

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).


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